Odalisque
by cruiscin lan
Summary: She didn't realize that she couldn't stand being with him until it was too late. Knowing him, he'd never just let her go. She needed to escape.


There were problems with being immortal. For Claire, it was tough watching everyone she had ever known or loved grow old and die. Sometimes they skipped the "growing old" part. With no love in her life, she was governed by fear and betrayal. Right, wrong, good, evil - nothing was black and white anymore, and she fell in with the most Gray person there ever was.

She had only stayed with him because she had no where else to go, and no one else to go to. He was a horrible person - a killer - and for a long time she felt that she wasn't any better than him. She didn't realize that she couldn't stand being with him until it was too late. Knowing him, he'd never just let her go. She needed to escape. Hesitating at the edge of the fire escape, she considered throwing herself down into the alley below - her limbs would crack, her skin would split open, her insides would splatter onto the wet pavement below. After who knows how long, her organs would shift back into place and her skin would seamlessly knit itself back together as her bones snapped back to where they were supposed to be, and Claire could simply get up and walk away.

But if she did that, would she lose the baby?

_*****_

He'd gotten used to parading her around like a trophy, like a prize - she'd been his final victory. He knew that they didn't have anything even resembling a functional relationship, but he'd grown accustomed to having her around. They ate together, they slept together, they woke up beside one another in the morning. He didn't realize how much he appreciated the company until it vanished. It felt like being lonely old Gabriel Gray again, and he couldn't stand lonely old Gabriel Gray.

And so he searched for her - tirelessly, relentlessly searched for her. But the days swiftly turned into weeks, and just as swiftly the weeks turned into months, and Sylar still couldn't find her. At first he suspected foul play; he had enough enemies, that was certain. As time wore on the wrench in his gut faded to a dull, slow ache, as he realized she had left him on her own volition. He thought he'd broken her in better than that, and her betrayal awoke in him the hunger for revenge. Strangely enough, it felt a lot like heartbreak.

She had burned him, burned him _badly_, and he was going to make her pay for it.

_*****_

The baby had a round little face and tiny chubby fingers and bright eyes that lit up for the smallest of reasons: the warm water gently trickling over her during baths in the kitchen sink; the familiar creak of her crib when placed there for naptime; the soft, velvety touch of her mother's lips pressed against her forehead.

Claire had two priorities: staying under the radar, and making ends meet. It was tough, but Claire was indestructible after all, and she knew she could go without luxuries and even necessities, as long as her child didn't. Still, Claire could barely afford to have food on her plate, much less keep her baby in diapers, but it didn't seem to matter. That baby was all smiles all the time, a little spot of sunshine in an otherwise bleak existence.

Claire had wanted to call her Sandra, after her mother, but that would make it too easy for Sylar to find them both. She racked her brain trying to come up with something meaningful, something important - a name that could serve as a memory of how things used to be, how Claire's life used to be, without sending up a flare to Sylar. In the end, though, she named her daughter Elle, to spite him.

_*****_

But sometimes, even when people try their best, they can't prevent the worst from happening. Claire's daughter Elle, like her namesake, died far too young.

Claire's blood could heal anything - sickness or injury - but it couldn't change the fact that her girl was born with a hole in her heart that no one saw until it was too late. "Congenital," the doctors told her. "She was just born that way."

Claire still felt responsible.

When baby Elle died, she was just learning to sit up on her own in Claire's lap. She was just starting to turn the corners of her lips upwards into tiny baby smiles, or form her mouth tiny little o's of amazement during peekaboo. Her hands fit perfectly around Claire's fingers, and her grasp was becoming more and more tenuous day by day. She could still fit comfortably across Claire's arms when it was time to eat, and she would only fall asleep when her mother held her upright, her face nuzzled into Claire's shoulder. Now all that was left was neatly contained in a small pewter jar that Claire would always keep close.

The girl had inherited neither her mother's immortality nor her father's resilience, and Claire thought maybe it was better that way.

_*****_

It had been a long time since he'd seen her, but he hadn't stopped searching in earnest. When he tracked her down, he telekinetically unlocked the door and let himself in quietly. Even in the grim darkness, he could make out the outlines of bottles on the countertops, the pacifiers, a stuffed bear. They were a little dusty on top from disuse and neglect. Putting the pieces slowly together, he finally understood why she left, and even though his heart was shattering, it didn't do anything to quell the fire he felt inside.

Claire woke up in the morning and he was standing, silent and solemn, in the gray morning light. As soon as she opened her eyes, his hand flew to her neck, pinning her against the headboard, and he growled wordlessly at her. Claire pressed her eyes shut, wishing that she'd die for good this time, but knowing in the back of her mind that it wasn't going to happen. She stopped breathing, blacked out, and re-awoke, and Sylar squeezed harder the second time around.

The crib was still standing at the foot of the bed, empty save for a few tousled blankets and bunched-up sheets.


End file.
